“Goodness, no. I doubt she intended to go in the current at all—as the couple who tried to save her attested, they heard her scream when she fell in,” Marion reminded Caitlin. “But I’ve often wondered if she planned to hide out at the end of the beach until her mother and stepfather became worried that something had happened to her.”
“I can’t really picture her doing that,” said Caitlin. “Nicole told me she wished her mom would back off and stop smothering her. She already felt like her mother didn’t trust her, and that she treated her like a baby. So why would she do something to make her mother worry about her even more than usual?”
“Perhaps she craved her mother’s attention, but she didn’t want to admit it? Or it could’ve been a way of rebelling against her mother’s control, testing her limits. Maybe Nicole intended to manipulate her mother’s emotions to get something she wanted,” suggested Marion. “Who knows? My point is, unless Nicole was drinking or taking drugs—and by all accounts, she wasn’t—then it defies belief that she didn’t realize how far she’d walked beyond the cottages. Whatever her motivation was, it was foolish of her to go anywhere near the current that evening. And unfortunately, she paid dearly for her foolishness, as you’re well aware.”
“Yes, I am,” said Caitlin soberly, tears springing to her eyes. She quickly blinked them away, but not before Marion noticed.
“Oh, dear, how insensitive I’ve been, blathering on about my theories when Nicole’s relationship with her mom was completely none of my business,” she chastised herself. “I should’ve simply said how sorry I am that you stumbled across that plaque. It’s such a heartbreaking visual reminder of Nicole’s drowning, which is why I stopped walking to the end of the beach… Now it’s my ample thighs and tummy that prevent me from going that far.”
Caitlin feebly smiled at Marion’s attempt to lighten the mood. Knowing her neighbor had been disturbed by the plaque, she felt comfortable enough to confide, “As least you’ve only been avoiding a little section of the beach—I’ve been avoiding the entire island for twenty years! And even before I saw the plaque, I’ve been struggling with memories of what happened that summer.” She sniffed. “I hate to admit this because I’ve really enjoyed seeing you again and getting to know you better… but most of the time I wish my aunt hadn’t insisted that I come back here to Dune Island for the remodel. It sort of feels like torment.”
“Torment?” echoed Marion, misunderstanding her. “You yourself have a young niece, so I think you know thattormentingyou was the furthest thing from your aunt’s mind.”
“Oh, no, that’s not what I’m saying,” Caitlin protested, regretting her phrasing. “I know that my aunt always had my best intentions at heart. What I meant was that—as beautiful as Dune Island is, and as grateful as I am to receive such a valuable inheritance—being here has triggered so many agonizing memories about Nicole, that at times it feels… unbearable.”
“I’m sure it does.” Marion sympathetically patted Caitlin’s arm. After a thoughtful pause, she suggested, “But maybe Lydia wanted you to return so you’d relive memories abouther. Or about your uncle. Happier times, when you loved being together at the cottage.”
“Mm, maybe,” murmured Caitlin.
“Maybe she also wanted you to make a few new memories while you were here—some very pleasant ones. So that when you say goodbye to Dune Island this time, you’ll be able to give it a fond farewell.”
Brightening, Caitlin chuckled. “Fond farewells were very important to my aunt.”
“They certainly were. Do you remember those windmill cookies she used to make for the guests?” she asked and Caitlin nodded. Marion abruptly reached into her coat pocket and instructed, “Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”
Caitlin did as she was told, and when Marion placed a cold object on her palm, she knew what it was before she opened her eyes again. “Aunt Lydia’s windmill cookie cutter! Where did you get this?”
“When her nephews were updating the cottage, they asked if I wanted any of Lydia’s kitchen items. So, I took it, as well as her favorite mug, because it reminded me of drinking coffee with her.”
“You mean the cup with scallops and starfish that says, ‘Seas the Day’ inside, on the bottom?” Caitlin asked, remembering it well. Her uncle had a special mug he always used, too, which read, “Hooked on fishing.”
“Yes, that’s the one. Unfortunately, it broke years ago, but I’d stored the windmill cookie cutter in a box of Christmas decorations, along with my gingerbread house supplies,” she explained. “This morning, Darren took the box out of the attic for me so I could start decorating and baking for the holidays in a couple weeks. When I saw the little windmill, I couldn’t wait to show it to you.”
“I can’t believe it,” said Caitlin, tracing the steel outline with her finger. “Can I borrow it?”
Marion nodded as she stood to leave. “You cankeepit—on one condition.”
Caitlin didn’t need to ask what that condition was. “Yes, I’ll bring you windmill sugar cookies when I bake them,” she promised.
Shortly after Marion’s visit, Caitlin received a text from Shane. It said:
Good morning. How are you feeling today?
She wrote back:
Better, thanks.
Then, so Shane wouldn’t suspect she’d felt sick because of the plaque—Caitlin didn’t want him to question her about why it had triggered such an extreme reaction—she added:
That’s the last time I ever go running after Thanksgiving dinner.
He texted again:
Is there anything I can bring you?
Caitlin appreciated Shane’s thoughtfulness, but after what happened yesterday at the marsh, and in light of what Marion had said she realized she just needed time alone to think. She replied:
Thanks, but I’m all set.
